Where the trains go
by Lucy's faith
Summary: Let's lean towards forgiveness - or live in guilt forever


We lie on her bed, side by side, palm to palm, fingers entwined. She has just had another one of her nightmares. Her breathing is deep.

Many nights she has called the names of those we lost to the rebellion, and tonight was no different. This time she was screaming for Finnick, and for Annie. For their unborn child. And as is often the case, I was dragged into the nightmare as well. For we are one and the same, living beings who have experienced the same fears, the same sorrows. The stirring in my chest which dwells from the hijacking comes to visit me again, but somehow, through strength of love for her, I manage to keep myself from thrashing around the way she had been doing, and held her close until the last tear was shed.

In the aftermath of her fit, it is quiet and there is a peacefulness in the air as we each breathe in the comfort of the other, with presences so strong, so sure, so understanding.

She says, "Tell me a story," and I reply gently, "What kind?" This is not the first time she has requested this of me.

She closes her eyes. "A fairytale," she tells me, and so, after a moment's thought, I do.

"There was once a young man named Adam," I begin, a slight lilt to my voice. "Adam," she repeats thoughtfully. "That is a strange name." I nod slightly though she cannot see, and tenderly I smooth her hair away from her face. I am not sure, myself, how and why that name had struck me, for it is not a common name in Panem. Perhaps it came to me in a dream. I do not know.

"Adam lived a simple life," I carry on. "Though truthfully, this was mostly because he was oppressed by those leading him and the riches of the material world were never made known to him. There were always whisperings, always, of life before, where people were happy and children were safe. But they were just whisperings, and no one could find it in himself to grasp at threads like that. So they went on with their lives, content but not quite satisfied."

"Adam worked in the fields," I continue, and here she smiles the ghost of a smile. I know she is thinking of Rue, dear, sweet Rue, who worked during Harvest time as well. I smile too, for though I did not know her personally, her spirit lives on with us. And this story is hers.

"It was a requirement for all the males to start work the day they reached 18 years of age, and Adam did not object terribly, though they were treated harshly. There he found friendship, in the men, and also in the beautiful birds of song that graced the fields on good days. The guards that kept watch on Adam and those like him let the birds, out of all the beasts of the land, stay around, for their song was a pure one that lifted the spirits of all the workers. But they always kept a close eye on them, in case they ever got up to any mischief. At the end of the day, Adam and the other workers would be ushered into trains, where they would be made to alight at the seventh stop to depart for home."

"One day, a songbird perched itself on a branch next to where Adam was, and it said: "You know, one of these days, you ought to go past that seventh station." "Why?" asked Adam curiously. "Isn't it obvious?," the bird sang back in response, "beyond that station, friend, you will find freedom." And because the songbird, with its outstretched wings ready for flight, seemed to know so much about the great gift, Adam decided to heed its advice. He was determined to find out where the trains went."

"That day, on his way home, Adam spoke to his friends about what the bird told him, and this quickly set the town ablaze. Many people stepped forward, keen on playing a part in this jailbreak, and soon a plan was formulated. So exactly seven days after his encounter with the songbird (for some reason, Adam never saw the songbirds after that), Adam and a few others hid under the chairs when the wardens came in to shoo everyone out. They silently rejoiced when the warden decided it was safe and slowly, the train started to pick up speed again. "Hooray, Hooray!" he thought to himself, prepared for happiness a hundredfold that only the eighth station could bring. But they never got to the eight station. Unfortunately, there was a gap in the track, an unforeseen problem - and they all fell to their deaths."

"The people back in Adam's hometown did not receive any news, and so assumed that the people who had left were now so joyful that they had forgotten to write back. And they'd no reason to return to the rotten old village of theirs. We know differently, of course, but they did not, and so more and more of them started to disappear."

"About a year later, everyone but a young girl was left. And so, clutching the ragged old teddy bear given to her by her grandmother tight to her beating chest, she proceeded on like the rest of them to hide under the seats. However, this time, when she got to the gap, it was filled with sand - and she made it across safely, to a town filled with compassionate people and loving hearts, and she lived the rest of her life in bliss. The end."

The air is heavy as my lips stop moving and nothing but silence follows.

I know it's an abrupt and arguably different ending to my fairytale, but when I look at her, I know she's understood.

The sand in the hole was not sand at all, but rather, the ashes of the deceased. The deaths of the people, their bones - they made it possible for the little girl to lead a happy, worry free life. Without them, without their sacrifice, the thousands to follow, just like that little girl, would still be under the cruel hand of their masters. They filled the gap to make life better for future generations.

Katniss knows that Finnick died for this same cause - to free the people he loved from the Capitol's wrath. He saw a world where Annie's child could be safe - where Katniss' child could be safe. I saw the fire in his eyes when he told us to leave him behind. I swore to myself, in that moment, that I would not let Katniss burden herself with memories of the dead. Not while she's living. That is what motivated my story. I press a chaste kiss to her forehead carefully. I give her time for my words to sink in.

"Thank you, Peeta," she says, after so long that I had thought she was already asleep again. Her voice is soft, quiet, and loving, in a way that I have only ever heard her use for Primrose. "For - everything." I hear the words that go unspoken.

I suppose this is what it feels like. Healing. Forgiveness. For me, and for her. Goodness knows how much we both need it.

I realize that we will never be able to truly get over any of the war's aftereffects, but in the time that her eyes stare into mine, I hope that maybe we can take baby steps, together, into defeating our inner demons. We have each other. We have survived worse. We have fought so hard, and my last thought before I close my eyes is about how Katniss, of all people, should be able to enjoy the freedom she has brought about for rebels everywhere. And so, as I close this chapter of my life, I begin a new one, for the story of Katniss and I as one entity. It is through helping her that I may help myself.

* * *

><p>AN: This is my first venture into the world of hunger games fan fiction. I have some wonderful friends who write tirelessly for this wonderful fandom, and I'd like to thank Jia in particular, for she has inspired this little one shot with her amazing fic, Even without the games, which I'd definitely recommend you to check out. That girl has the abilty to make you cry, laugh and scream all in the short span of an hour. Kudos to you, my lovely lady!

What really prompted me to write this though, was something I saw posted on the thg secrets blog on tumblr (I'm on there everyday - would anyone be interested in knowing my user? C: ) - I really hate secrets blogs, by the way - about how finnick's death was unnecessary. On the contrary, I thought it was very necessary. I told this to my wonderful beta, Tessa (bless her), and she replied that she disagreed with me, as is bound to happen between friends every so often. So here I will explain both our arguments (which she expressed to me via text message), and let you decide yourself on which side you stand. I'll keep my words as close to the original as possible.

For me, thg is supposed to be art imitating life, and so Finnick's death was necessary as an example of how wars tear families apart - he didn't even getvto see the birth of his first son! My great grandfather was a war hero (he's recognized as one in my country so I'm not boasting, if that's what you're thinking. We study him in social studies. I won't say his name, though, for fear I'll slander his name somehow), and my grandfather, at twelve, was his eldest child, and he said: "I will always remember the last time I saw my father before he went to fight the war. Even after he left, the sound of his footsteps we still clear in my head and I remained standing there longer than was necessary." When my great grandfather's torture and eventual death, he left a wife and seven children to fend for themselves. I suppose that's why I feel so strongly for the Odairs. Anyway, enough about me - Tessa says that she hated how Finnick's death was so short - such a great character deserves at least more than two lines for his end! in my opinion, Finnick represents all the unsung heroes in Iraq, in Libya, etc, all the nameless soliders we never hear about, whose deaths are never glamourized the way they are in books and movies. Tessa says that we have Boggs for that, which is true, and I said that Katniss wasn't close to Boggs as she was to Finnick, so, with all due to Boggs' character (who I adnire very much), it didn't hit home quite as hard. We can't count Primrose's death because she didn't die a soldier, she died a victim of bombings, which unfortunately, many children do.

If you have something else to add, I'd love to hear it! :3 Drop a review (*wink*) and I'll get right back to you! I'm always up for good conversation.

Finally, I'd like to say, if you're still with me (sorry for being so incredibly wordy lmao) that although this is a thg ff, I really only used it as a platform to get my message across. Hopefully, by now, you know what it is. I just couldn't resist throwing in that bit of Everark hee hee (please don't tell me Peeniss or KatPee lol).

Many thanks to you, for reading! I hope you'll leave me a review, positive or negative, as long as it isn't rude and hateful :) We all need a little criticsm in our lives, or else how will we ever improve? God Bless you all!

Oh, and I don't own THG - all credit for that goes to the amazingly talented Suzanne Collins. I'm just borrowing them for a bit, is all :)


End file.
